Mi Casa
by clairesredpen
Summary: A welcome visitor to Patrick's Hispanic refuge, this is pure Jisbon fantasy. Based very loosely on the brief clips i've seen of 6x09 and beyond, since we are still stuck in series hiatus in the UK after 6x08...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - We are enduring an interminably long mid-season hiatus in the UK right now, immediately after 6x08 RJ's demise, and despite my valiant efforts not to witness any spoilers post 6x08, i have now been reduced to watching brief youtube clips of what happens next to get my much-needed Mentalist/Jane fix!**

**So, although this is loosely based on those limited episode clips i have seen of Jane in his Hispanic hideaway, it is pure Jisbon fantasy! And if it is a little OoC, so be it, it's my fantasy (plus it's really difficult to try and get into his head!)! ;-)**

Chapter 1

"So, what do you think?"Patrick asked, gently touching the small of her back as he guided her up the creaky wooden stairs and into his small apartment.

"Mi casa es tu casa, as we locals say!"

He still couldn't quite believe she was actually here. Teresa Lisbon, here, in his little corner of ... well, not quite paradise (how could it be?), but it was his life, for now.

Despite his status as a 'wanted fugitive', he and Lisbon had managed to keep in touch sporadically by old-fashioned (and therefore more difficult for FBI traces) letter over the past 2 years, with the help of some trusted carny friends. So he knew she at least hadn't _completely_ disowned him for... well, for so many things, but mostly for running out on her again. But in those letters she had made it clear that she had understood that he had no other option than to run; given his actions that day, he would be serving a very long jail sentence if he had stayed, and although he had no fear of prison, he knew she had wanted him to have the chance of finally finding some peace, and freedom, after Red John. Even if it meant she played no part in that freedom.

It was all far more than he had deserved from her, he knew, especially as the fallout from the serial killer's ultimate demise would have inevitably shifted firmly onto Teresa and her team's shoulders, given that he was not around to take responsibility. He could only hope the rest of the team had forgiven him for his escape, as Teresa had done.

When she'd got word to him that she had managed to fix it to come and see him, nearly 2 years on, he had to admit he had been a little wary as to her motives. Had she finally been turned by Abbott and was going to try and bring him back to the US to face trial? Or worse, was she coming to say goodbye for good? He didn't know, too afraid to push for an answer, if he was being totally honest with himself, but he did know he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Teresa again, to thank her properly for all she'd done for him over the years, if nothing else.

"It's... hmm...", she wrinkled her nose, looking around her, "... give me a moment...", she teased, smiling back at him.

She wandered slowly through the apartment, stopping to breathe in the strong scent from some lilac and pink flowers (he couldn't remember their name now) which bloomed in an old terracotta vase in the kitchen; she ran her hand distractedly over the back of a small leather couch which took up most of the tiny living room; they finished their brief tour of his apartment in the only other room, the bedroom. Patrick stayed back at a distance, leaning against the doorway, watching her, eyes wide, taking in as much of her as he could. He noticed her hesitate slightly as she entered the room, unsure if it was inappropriate to be there, but she kept walking, stopping by the open window. She took off her cream linen jacket, the warm breeze through the window obviously giving her a little bit of relief from the stifling afternoon heat that rose from the hot pavements most days there.

Teresa stared down at the bustling street below, the lively sounds of market traders and mopeds drifting up to fill the silence in the room. A spark of heat shot through Patrick as he noticed how the sun glimmered off her lightly-tanned shoulders, now bare in her sleeveless blouse.

God, how he'd missed her.

He had known, of course, that he would miss her more than anyone else when he left. However, he had mistakenly convinced himself that it was merely his reliance on her in his pursuit of Red John - to get him out of tricky situations with the occasional judge or FBI agent, to blindly support him no matter what - it was that support that he would miss.

At the bus station when she'd arrived, they'd hugged, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Smelling that familiar vanilla shampoo once again, hearing her voice, holding her small, strong frame against him... he cursed himself for being so foolish not to have realised that it was, simply, Teresa, that he'd missed. His Teresa. Not CBI-Teresa, not Red John Teresa, just Teresa.

And yes, he loved her.

Those few liaisons he'd had with women in the time since he left, suddenly now felt to him like he'd betrayed her. The guilt and regret threatened to floor him right there in front of her, even if a more meaningful relationship was the last thing she was looking for from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Well, what do you think of my humble abode?" he asked again, unable to think of anything else to say to fill the silence.

"It's, er, noisy!" she eventually offered, turning from the window to face him.

"Is that it? 'It's noisy'?" he gently mocked, taking a few steps into the room. "You've come all this way to see me, we're in an idyllic location, sun shining, warm seas, ... and all you can come up with is 'It's noisy'?! Nothing else?!"

She perched on the edge of the small writing table which sat under the window, arms folded, studying him. A glimpse of a smile creased one side of her mouth.

"Well, you can lose that shirt for a start," she blurted out.

The look of sudden shock on Teresa's face made Patrick think she hadn't actually meant to say that out loud...he gasped dramatically, looking down at the offending article of clothing he was currently wearing.

"This shirt? What's wrong with it?"

"Where do I start?!"

"It's stylish beachwear."

"It's floral."

"Ok, ok, Lisbon, if you insist, anything to keep you happy."

He sighed heavily, eyes rolling in feigned indignation, as he started undoing his shirt buttons.

"No, I didn't mean..." Teresa stepped towards him, panicked, hand up to stop him. But then, and much to Patrick's own momentary panic, she paused, and instead leant back against the edge of the table again, smiling at him.

"Carry on, then." Her eyes glinted brightly, as she ushered him to continue his undress.

That jolt of heat pulsed through Patrick again, and he felt a sudden and intense need to kiss her. But he didn't, he couldn't risk destroying what friendship they had left. She was just playing with him, wasn't she, a flirtatious game, maybe, but just their old, familiar games. But it took two to play, didn't they say?, and he was the Games Master, after all.

He finished unbuttoning his shirt, dropping it onto the bed behind him.

"There, that better, my dear?" he said, flashing her his best Patrick Jane smile. She was bluffing, he was sure of it, and it was only a matter of moments before he called her on it!

She stood and walked closer to him, taking in his naked torso. He noticed now a steady darkness in her eyes, her face more than a little flushed, and, if he was not mistaken, rather enlarged pupils... She couldn't hold this bluff for long, he thought, and he fully expected her to walk swiftly past him and out the door. Some things never change, he smiled warmly at the thought.

As she reached his side, however, she turned and strolled round behind him. This caught Patrick off guard, but he didn't have time to process it before a trail of warmth surged through him as her fingers lightly traced across his bare shoulders and back. She continued her path until she was back round in front of him again. Her hand rested on his chest, his heart now thumping wildly beneath it.

"Mmm, a little better," she murmured, her eyes fixed intently on his.

"Teresa?" he managed to stutter, his brain racing to catch up with this now very different scenario currently playing out in front him. She was obviously a better poker player than he'd remembered...

He lifted a hand to place it on hers, but she moved her own hand up to his face.

"And the beard, the beard can stay, I like it" she whispered, caressing his jawline with the backs of her fingers.

"OK, the beard stays". His voice cracked as he spoke, his breathing ragged. This was reaching the point of no return. Teresa Lisbon, this better not be a bluff...

He reached up and gently traced a circle with his thumb on her bare shoulder. Pushing the strap of her blouse to one side, he bent, his eyes darting momentarily back to hers, and then tenderly kissed the spot on her collar bone where the strap of her blouse had been. He heard her exhale deeply as he continued to kiss her soft skin along the line of her collar bone until he reached that sweet spot on her neck. As he kissed it, she sighed his name, his given name, Patrick, in his ear, sending waves of warmth and electricity through him, urging him on.

Her arms were now round his neck, one hand lightly massaging through his blond curls.

"The hair," she whispered, "never touch the hair."

"Never," he smiled through his kisses as he made his way up across her jawline towards the side of her mouth.

"But Patrick..." she breathed.

"Hmm?"

"We need to have serious words about this sarong..."

He had reached her lips now, and they kissed, deeply, impatiently, for several moments, before they both reached towards his waist at the same time, pulling the swath of pink material from his body, letting it drop to the floor.

As he pulled her against his near naked body, they stumbled back onto the bed, the rest of the day and night a hazy, glorious blur.


End file.
